


Expectations

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Begging, Breeding Kink, Come Marking, Creampie, Exhibitionism, Fake Knot, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Masturbation, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, More In Notes, Mutual Masturbation, Object Insertion, Other, Scent Marking, Sex In A Cave, Snowed In, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Were-Creatures, is it a dildo, non binary john marston, not from arthur, presenting, supportive hosea, yeah i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: "You been with a heated Omega?" John asks roughly."... Yeah.""How'd… How'd they get you to…?" John scratches at his forearm, stares into the fire, "Everyone says it's easier with an Alpha.""Ah…" Arthur shrugs lopsidedly, "Just kinda falls together, if you're compatible."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so john experiences some threatening from inconsequential alphas about being raped and it twists in his brain from feeling guilty over wanting arthur until arthur is the one forcing him in his nightmare 
> 
> this is addressed and resolved pretty early on 
> 
> also regarding wolves and a/b/o in this universe and p much every werewolf au i write
> 
> omega are all born afab and alpha are born amab beta are born either or intersex 
> 
> transness is common and accepted amongst werewolves both binary and nonbinary regardless of assigned gender or secondary gender designation 
> 
> because i'm trans and i said so lmao

Arthur notices that John’s avoiding him, though he racks his brain for any reason over and over, every time he comes up just as clueless.

Frankly? He's sick of it.

"John, need to speak with you," Arthur says as he walks up to the younger, John looking up at him, nervous, doe-eyed, "C'mon."

Arthur starts walking away from the younger, heading out of the camp without checking that John is following, trusting in the lack of likeliness that John will disobey him.

Sure enough, he hears the younger's lighter footsteps trailing a few paces behind him as he heads down the mountainside, weaving through trees, making his way to the river bank.

When he slows to a stop he turns after a minute of looking over the water.

Only to find John several yards back, fists clenched at his head and head ducked, shoulders tight, guarding his neck.

Looking just like the feral, wounded and terrified kid they'd picked up near a decade ago.

"This ain't the gallows, Kid," Arthur huffs, "No need to look so doomed."

John tenses at being addressed, barely lifting his gaze to Arthur's before dropping his eyes to the ground again.

Not before Arthur reads the fear there.

His brows furrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably.

The idea of John being scared of him settles like lead in his stomach.

He worked hard for the younger's trust over the years, and they'd grown to be each other's closest companions, so to regress this harshly, without a reason Arthur can figure…

Well, it hurts.

"What's wrong with you lately?" Arthur asks roughly, "Why you actin' so odd?"

"Nothin' wrong with me," John mutters petulantly.

But he still won't look up, still is tensed like he poised to bolt.

"Uh-huh," Arthur drawls, thick with disbelief, "Wanna try that again? Maybe aim to be a lil more convincin' this time 'round."

John shifts on the uneven rock.

"John," Arthur sighs tiredly, "Whatever's got you like this… Either talk it out with me or get over it. I'm gettin' real sick of it."

"I had… A dream," John says hesitantly, Arthur has to strain to hear him.

"... Alright?"

"It was a bad dream," John mutters.

"Thought you stopped havin' nightmares," Arthur says slowly.

"This was… Different," John says hoarsely.

"Well, lay it out, John," Arthur says.

"There were some Alphas in town," John whispers, "While back. They… Had me cornered for a bit, and were tryin' to scare me."

"This your dream or somethin' real?"

"No, this… This weren't my dream," John shakes his head and fidgets before crossing his arms tightly, "But I think it's… Why. Or part of why."

John shifts and glances at Arthur nervously.

"John, get on with it."

"They were describin'... Takin' advantage of me," John says hoarsely, "I don't know why but my brain went and twisted that into a dream but it weren't them hurtin' me… It was you."

Arthur stares in shock.

"I know… I wouldn't think you'd…" John clears his throat shakily, "Do that. I just…"

"... John," Arthur whispers, hurt overcoming his expression.

"I'm sorry," John mutters and shrugs tightly, "I know it ain't fair to you. I just… It keeps replayin'."

"I wouldn't," Arthur says firmly, feeling nauseous at the thought, "You know me. I couldn't hurt you like that."

"I know," John whispers, voice trembling.

John stares at the ground for a moment longer then jerks up straighter and uncrosses his arms, looking up but not quite meeting Arthur's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'll get over it," John says firmly then nods stiffly to Arthur and turns, starting the climb back up to camp.

Leaving Arthur on the bank, feeling sick and dizzy.

\--

John flinches when they get close to each other, and it stings Arthur's chest every time.

The younger, consciously or not, gives Arthur a wide physical berth in camp.

Stops riding next to him on jobs.

It leaves an ache in Arthur's heart.

\--

The last thing Arthur's expecting is for John to ride up to his little campfire in a shallow cave while Arthur's out solo.

He watches John dismount Old Boy and tether the draft to a hefty tree nearby.

"I didn't tell you everythin'," John says quickly, a little out of breath where he stands a few paces from the fire Arthur's sitting by.

"I was dreamin' of you… In a _good_ way, at first. It weren't 'til I started feelin' guilty that things… Changed," John rushes through the words, staring at the older man with red-rimmed eyes.

Arthur watches him carefully for a moment then looks back down to his journal.

"Come sit down, John," Arthur murmurs.

It takes a minute, then the pebbles crunch under John's boots as the younger comes closer.

Sitting down about two feet away, the closest they've been in weeks.

"What made you feel guilty?" Arthur asks gently.

"You don't… Like me," John starts, stumbling over his words, "I know I ain't your type of Omega."

"You ain't gotta feel guilty if you…" Arthur says awkwardly, "If you want somethin' like that."

"I don't…" John frowns and dusts off his hands, "Or I didn't used to? I don't have a lot of dreams like that one started… But it… It was you."

John rubs at his mouth roughly, twisting his legs to hug his knees.

"I'm not scared of you… Not really. You just… Found out, in that dream," John says thickly, "You got so mad. Told me you'd show me that I didn't really want you."

John looks up at him, brows low and furrowed.

"But I do, even still," John mutters bitterly.

Arthur sets his pencil down to rub at his jaw slowly, feeling a headache coming on.

"I'm sorry I went and made everythin' strange," John says quietly, "Just on edge, I think… With my heat…"

"Oh," Arthur murmurs, "S'comin' up?"

"A week or two."

Arthur frowns in concern.

"You should be back at camp, where you're safe."

John frowns back at him.

"You sayin' I ain't safe with you?" John asks slowly, and Arthur hears the hint of fear creeping into the younger's voice.

"That's not," Arthur sighs roughly and covers his eyes with his hand, "Not what I meant."

He hears John sniff sharply and barely lifts his head to look at the younger.

John looks frustrated, more than anything.

"You been with a heated Omega?" John asks roughly.

"... Yeah."

"How'd… How'd they get you to…?" John scratches at his forearm, stares into the fire, "Everyone says it's easier with an Alpha."

"Ah…" Arthur shrugs lopsidedly, "Just kinda falls together, if you're compatible."

They're both quiet for a moment before Arthur sighs tiredly.

"Go home, John, 'fore it gets dark."

\--

John just seems to get more and more twitchy over the next week.

And then he gets clingy.

Clingy, specifically, to Arthur.

It's a complete one-eighty from the avoidance in the weeks prior and Arthur's unprepared to have an Omega approaching heat in his bubble every chance the younger gets.

John seems to be aware, too, he looks miserable over it.

"You oughta get settled," Arthur mutters roughly as they're both sitting at the fire past dusk, "You're close."

John shifts, drawls his legs up, hugging his knees close and not responding.

"You nested yet?" Arthur asks quietly, "Know Susan stopped helpin' you a while back."

"I don't need to nest," John says bitterly.

Arthur glances up from the fire to look at John, frowning.

"It'll make it easier, you know that."

John sniffs petulantly and glares at the fire.

"I'll help you get shit together, John, if you want."

"Don't be cruel," John mutters, a sense of pleading to it.

"I'm offerin' to help," Arthur says incredulously.

"You go in my tent now and it'll smell like you the whole time," John says hoarsely, "You get that? Everythin' will smell like Alpha but I ain't got one."

Arthur rubs at the side of his neck, feeling frustrated and guilty at the same time.

"You're just gonna make it worse for yourself," Arthur mutters.

"Oh fuck off, Arthur," John mutters, "Don't act like you care now."

"What?"

"Nestin' ain't gon' help me. We both know only an Alpha will," John hisses, "And the only Alpha I want is-"

"John," Arthur says sharply, using every ounce of anger and authority he can muster, aiming to get John to shut up.

It works.

Too well.

John flinches away from him, unfolding to scramble a few, frantic inches away.

Looking at the older man with wide eyes, wetly reflecting the firelight.

They watch each other for a few silent moments then John lifts a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

"Oh Christ," John whispers.

Arthur frowns at the younger in confusion before he inhales and his brow smooths in shock at the scent of aroused Omega.

Not just aroused, even, but _heated_ Omega.

John lets out a shaky fearful sound, looking at Arthur in terror.

"Go to your tent," Arthur says stiffly.

John starts to protest and Arthur growls, low and warning, eyes flashing gold at the younger.

John scrambles up, away, hurrying to his tent.

Arthur watches, squinting in the dim light until John's form disappears behind canvas flaps.

\--

None of the camp hear a peep from John over the next three days, the average length for a heat, though they all can smell him.

It's honestly a bit worrying.

He knows one of the girls left a full canteen outside John's tent, and that it disappeared a few hours later.

But that was the only sign John was even alive.

It claws at every instinct in Arthur, wolf, Alpha, friend.

He's concerned, dammit.

He breaks, the third night, making his way over to John's tent, lightly knocking on the post.

"Johnny?" Arthur murmurs, "You alright?"

"Fine," John replies voice three times as hoarse as normal.

"You wanna pass me that canteen so we can get you some more water?" Arthur asks hesitantly.

He's trying not to breathe too deeply, but he can't help but notice he hardly smells _heat_, and he definitely doesn't smell arousal.

Mostly he smells sadness.

The canvas in front of him shifts and Arthur can tell the younger is untying the flaps.

He's expecting John's arm to pop out with the canteen, instead he hears quiet shuffling, getting further away from the entrance, then a fabric-muffled thump.

Arthur blinks in confusion for a moment then lifts one of the flaps slowly, peering into the dim tent.

John has a lantern burning low in the corner.

The younger is curled up on a pile of furs, wool blankets, and cotton clothing on the ground at the back of the tent, staring blankly at the ground near his face.

"John?" Arthur whispers, "You alright?"

The younger looks up at him and Arthur notices his eyes are swollen, red and raw from crying.

"It over?" Arthur asks as he takes a small step in, crouches.

John shrugs weakly.

"You don't smell like you're in heat anymore."

John shrugs again.

Arthur frowns, noticing that the younger is still wearing the same clothes from the other night, is still fully clothed.

"Have…" Arthur's chest aches with a realization, tone incredulous, "Did you not act on it? At all?"

John's expression crumples slightly and the younger looks back down at the ground, lightly shaking his head.

"Jesus, John," Arthur whispers, rubs his head.

He stays like that for a moment then sighs looking around the tent.

He spots the canteen a little ways from John and shuffles closer to grab it, John's eyes flicking up to him nervously.

"I'll be right back," Arthur mutters and steps out of the tent.

\--

"Alright if I sit with you?"

"S'fine," John murmurs, sounding tired.

Arthur ducks into the tent with the fresh water, apple, and jerky he'd grabbed after briefly updating Hosea.

He slips off his boots, slowly sits down next to John.

He sets the food down between them, nudges the canteen closer to John.

He can tell John doesn't feel like it but the younger glances up at him briefly before uncapping and sipping the water, looking back up again.

Arthur's gut twists when he realizes John's trying to please him, trying to get his approval, not at all concerned with himself.

He has options here, he can use this leverage to get John to refuel, just until the younger is out of this fog.

He hates himself a little more when he makes a small approving sound and sees John light up a little.

The younger takes a few more small sips while Arthur takes out his knife and cuts into the apple.

He holds out a wedge to John.

The younger sits up slightly, propping himself on one elbow as he sets the canteen down and nimbly takes the apple slice.

Arthur watches to makes sure John actually starts eating it then cuts off a smaller slice, popping it into his own mouth just to give himself something to do.

“You feel well ‘nough to go down to the river?” Arthur asks quietly.

John looks up from munching on the apple, gaze darting over Arthur’s face nervously.

“You ain’t gotta,” Arthur soothes, “I can bring you somethin' to get cleaned up with in here.”

“I feel…” John swallows his bite, turns the piece of apple in his hand slowly, “Odd.”

“Odd?”

“In my head, the way I’m thinkin’,” John mutters, “Still feels like heat.”

John lowers his gaze again.

“You didn’t do anythin’ for relief?” Arthur asks, “At all?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t _need_ like that. I was too upset when I first came in here and I just,” John gestures to the haphazard pile of soft things underneath him.

Arthur spots one of his old shirts, a handkerchief of Dutch’s, a scarf from Hosea, even a crocheted doily Bessie left behind.

Things that smelled like _safety._

His Alpha instincts preen at the fact that his shirt is the only thing directly touching John.

He stomps down the pride and hands over another apple slice.

“Then it really settled in and I just, I had that fuzzy-headed feelin', the need for _touch_ but it didn’t feel good. It just hurt,” John mutters and takes another sip of water, peering up at Arthur through his messy hair.

The older man makes a small sound of approval, hardly thinking about it now.

That he’s acting like he’s John’s Alpha.

“Is that somethin’ that happens with Omegas?” Arthur asks hesitantly.

John shrugs.

“Hosea might know,” Arthur offers, “You can ask him tomorrow. Meantime, any pain still?”

“My back hurts,” John mutters, “But I think that’s from being all curled up.”

“You wanna walk ‘round a bit?”

John tentatively shakes his head.

“Too tired,” John says and lowers his head back to the fur.

Arthur sets down the apple and slides his knife back into his belt, picking up the chunk of jerky and tearing off a strip and handing it to John.

“Work on that, I’ll be right back.”

\--

“He alright?” Hosea asks as he comes up next to Arthur rifling through their medical supplies.

“Honestly, I ain’t sure,” Arthur looks up, brow furrowed in concern, “He said it didn’t feel ‘good’ like a regular heat, that it just hurt. He looks like he’s cried the last three days straight.”

Hosea returns his frown and nudges his hands out of the way, digging through the crate with purpose.

He comes back up with a small, amber, glass pot.

About the size of a silver dollar.

He holds it out to Arthur not letting it go immediately.

“If you don’t want to scent him,” Hosea begins, making Arthur look up, surprised, “Then tell him to put this on his neck.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a concentrate, diluted in oil, Alpha pheromones.”

Arthur sniffs curiously, reels back slightly when the scent reaches him.

He can’t help the distaste that curls his lip as he takes the little pot.

“Alright,” Arthur sighs, “What about somethin’ for muscle pain.”

\--

He ducks into John’s tent, bucket, soap, some towels, and the two pots Hosea gave him in hand.

Only to find John asleep, curled up around Arthur’s shirt, hand holding the piece of jerky near his mouth, like the younger fell asleep while eating.

Arthur quietly sets everything down then kneels in front of John, reaching out to lightly shake the younger’s shoulder.

John startles awake immediately, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“C’mon,” Arthur says gently, helps John sit up, “Get cleaned up, then I have somethin’ for your back.”

\--

“Arthur,” He hears John whispers from inside the tent.

“Hm?”

“Is it… Can I wear that shirt you gave me?” John asks slowly.

“... Sure."

He hears John move around a little bit more before the flap lifts next to Arthur, John peeks out at him, a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Arthur’s old shirt swamping him, short drawers barely showing underneath.

“You done?” Arthur asks quietly.

John nods and steps back into the tent.

Arthur follows him, hesitates before tying down the flap.

John’s watching him sleepily, having sat back down on the pile.

Arthur procrastinates for a second then sighs, kicks his boots off again, sitting heavily next to John.

He pulls the two pots out of his pocket and holds one in each hand.

He can feel his nose wrinkling, holds the Alpha pheromones a little farther away from himself.

“I talked to Hosea,” Arthur says, rolls the Alpha pot in his hand, “He thought this might help with the lingering effects.”

He holds out the pot to John.

The younger lifts a brow as he takes it from Arthur.

Their fingers barely brush but Arthur feels the heat still radiating from the younger.

John brings the pot up to squint at it then almost immediately has a similar reaction to Arthur’s, recoiling and thrusting his arm away from, as far as he can get it without outright throwing the jar.

“Christ,” John gasps and shoves the pot back into Arthur’s hands, shuffling away, “No.”

"John. It'll help," Arthur tries to reason, "Especially with how odd this one affected you."

"No thank you," John says quickly, watching Arthur cautiously, like the older man might open the jar and smear it on him.

Arthur sighs, sees this is a lost battle, looking down at the offending jar.

"Can you get that out of here?" John asks, voice muffled, Arthur looks up to see John holding the collar of Arthur's old shirt over his mouth and nose.

It feeds his pride and he shuffles, leaning down to shove the little jar under the canvas flap and out of the tent.

John mutters his thanks and Arthur notices the younger is staring at the other glass pot.

"S'just some pain salve," Arthur murmurs, "For your back."

"Are you gonna… Put it on?" John asks slowly.

Arthur shifts lightly and shrugs.

"Was plannin' on helpin', if you're alright with that."

"How do you want to…?" John trails off, looking uncertain.

"Take that shirt off," Arthur says gently, "Then lay on your stomach."

John watches him for moment then lowers his gaze, grabs the hem of the shirt, tugging it swiftly over his head.

Leaving him bare-chested, fidgeting with the shirt around his fists.

"Ah, jeez," Arthur huffs and looks away, "You coulda told me you didn't have nothin' underneath."

"You told me to take it off," John mutters.

Arthur blinks in realization.

"You in that kinda headspace?"

"The kind where I feel like shit if I don't follow an Alpha's commands?" John huffs and flops down onto his stomach, "Yeah."

"Sorry," Arthur sighs and looks over John.

He can see dozens of little round bruises along John's ribs and arms.

Arthur frowns, crawls a little closer, lightly prodding at a bruise.

"What're these from?" Arthur whispers.

John glances back then twists his arm to get a better look.

“Oh… Hm,” John grimaces, settles back down, “I did that, I think, just holdin' myself real tight.”

Arthur gently rubs over one bruise, pulls back to open the larger pot, digging his fingertips into the gel.

“Where’s it hurt most?”

“Low back,” John mutters, “Over my hips.”

Arthur hums his acknowledgement, presses his hand to John’s lower spine.

The younger tenses then squirms lightly, grumbling.

Arthur makes a questioning noise as he smooths the gel down until his fingertips meet the top of John’s drawers.

“Cold,” John mutters, burrowing his face into his arms.

“You’re still runnin’ warm,” Arthur says quietly as he presses his other hand just below John’s neck.

A quiet, satisfied sigh leaves John and he tilts his head down to curve his spine up into Arthur’s touch.

There’s an immense temptation to move his hand to John’s nape, but you only touched a wolf’s nape, especially an Omega’s, for three reasons.

Claiming, scenting, and scruffing.

Arthur rubs his thumb over the knobs of John’s spine and scoots a little closer, his bent knees pressing against John’s side.

He shifts his focus to spreading the salve across John’s lower back.

He realizes after a while that he can’t smell sadness on John anymore, though it’s lingering in the tent.

John smells content.

“This helpin’?” Arthur asks, voice low.

It’s getting late, and the noise of camp has really died down.

John makes a small, pleased noise and Arthur snorts.

He pulls back his hands, wipes them off on his pant-legs.

John stretches his arms forward then turns his head to look at Arthur, shoving his hair out of his face.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use that shit?” Arthur asks slowly.

“Even you think it’s bad,” John mutters.

Arthur wrinkles his nose but he can’t exactly deny it.

It’s not his intention to be cocky but the Alpha pheromones don’t smell particularly ‘threatening’ to him.

They smell weak, bodied and willed.

Too chemical, too unfamiliar.

“S’not for me,” Arthur protests.

“... I’ll try it,” John whispers, “If you want me to.”

Arthur takes a breath and sighs, glancing over to the shirt in John’s hands.

He makes a small frustrated sound then roughly undoes his buckle, letting his belt fall off.

He sees John’s eyes widen, staring up at him as he untucks his shirt and then starts on the buttons.

“... Arthur?” John asks shakily.

Arthur’s head lifts sharply from watching his task at the tone.

He pulls the shirt over his head without finishing unbuttoning it.

Then holds it out to John.

John’s eyes dart rapidly between his face and the shirt before slowly sitting up, letting go of the old shirt, accepting the new one.

“Really?” John asks quietly as his fingers close around the cotton.

“S’not much, but it’s…”

“It’s a lot, Arthur,” John says hesitantly, “Are you sure ‘bout this?”

Arthur frowns at him in confusion.

“It’s… Different than the first one you gave me,” John whispers, “I was a kid then. Y’all were just tryin’ to make me feel welcomed.”

“That’s what I’m doin’ now, though.”

“You’re givin’ an Omega somethin’ covered in your scent, right after their heat,” John says slowly, “I’m gonna smell like… Like you claimed me.”

Arthur draws his lower lip into his mouth anxiously then pushes the shirt more firmly into John’s hand.

Pulling back his hands slowly.

John shuffles and pulls the shirt over his head, Arthur averting his eyes.

John makes a pleased noise and hugs himself, burrowing into the shirt, closing his eyes, breathing deeply.

\--

Arthur retires to his tent shortly after, luckily not running into anyone and having to explain why he’s wearing an old shirt two sizes too small that reeks of heated Omega.

He strips down for bed, leaving the shirt for last, pulling it off as he sits down on his cot.

He brings the shirt to his nose, inhales deeply, then sets it to the side and flops back on the mattress, covering his face as he feels his body surge with want. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chest, slit, and clit are used for john 
> 
> there's a reference to the nightmare john had that's just arthur saying he needed to make sure john wasn't confused because of it

John’s already up the next morning when Arthur comes out of his tent.

Though he doesn’t look happy, curled up by the fire, drowning in a coat, Arthur can see the shirt he gave John last night peeking out at the top.

He walks over to the fire and lowers himself to the ground next to John.

The younger looks up at him, and once he registers who’s next to him, his expression softens a bit.

“Hey,” John murmurs.

“Mornin’,” Arthur says, voice still rough with sleep, “How you feelin’?”

“Better,” John says softly, bringing a hand up and tugging at the collar of the shirt, “Thank you.”

“... No problem.”

\--

Things mostly go back to normal, though every once in awhile Arthur sees John wearing his shirt whenever there’s a lingering frustration or sadness around the younger.

Fall comes, goes, leads into a bitter Winter.

John gets sick.

Nothing particularly bad, but it’s enough to put the younger out of commission for a week.

Arthur comes back from a job with Hosea and resists the urge to immediately check on John.

He notices that John’s tent has been moved to the edge of camp and his brows furrow.

“Miss Grimshaw?” Arthur asks as he passes her, “What’s with John’s tent?”

“He’s in heat, again,” Susan says, her tone a mix of annoyance and reluctant concern, “Came out snifflin’ on the first night and asked for his tent to be moved so he wouldn’t bother none.”

“Ah, shit,” Arthur mutters, “How long since it started?”

“Tonight’s the fourth night, so based on last time…”

“He should be close to done,” Arthur sighs, rubbing at his temples, “I’ll check on him.”

\--

After getting his things put away, unloads his weapons before he approaches the tent cautiously.

Similar to last time, there’s a distinct lack of the scent of arousal, and a much stronger scent of sadness.

This time, though, John still smells firmly in Heat.

“John?” Arthur asks quietly, leaning lightly against the main post.

He gets a small whimper in response.

“Can I come in?”

He hears a bit of shuffling and then a small, high-pitched, pained noise.

“John?” Arthur asks, concern twisting his heart.

There’s a bit of sniffling then the canvas shifts as John unties the flaps.

Before a rough thumping sounds, right in front of the entrance.

Arthur lifts the flap, peers into the dimly lit interior.

Only to find John slumped on the ground at his feet.

He crouches immediately, craning his neck to try and see John’s face under the mess of the younger’s hair hanging in his face.

“Johnny?”

“Hurts,” John rasps.

“Where?” Arthur asks gently, “You want me to get that salve again?”

John hesitates and thens slowly shakes his head.

“I’m too- I’m still…” John mutters then trails off, reaching up and pressing his hand to his nape.

Like if he pressed hard enough he could get the claiming spot to stop hurting.

Arthur can hear Hosea’s voice echoing in the back of his mind.

_‘If you don’t want to scent him-’_

“John,” Arthur says quietly, “You want me to lay down with you?”

John’s head snaps up and he stares at Arthur wide-eyed before shaking his head.

“I don’t wanna be any trouble,” John says hoarsely, “I’m tryin’, I swear.”

“You ain’t causin’ trouble,” Arthur sighs, holding his hand out to John.

John lets Arthur help him back over to his nest before slumping tiredly into the fur.

Arthur sits next to the younger, tugging off his boots, slowly laying down.

John looks up at his face then tentatively scoots closer, keeping his arms to himself, shuffling down so he can tuck his head under Arthur's chin.

Arthur's arm slings around his waist, a heavy weight that grounds him.

His brain is foggy from his heat, it's taking a lot of effort to even think of something to say.

He rubs his cheek against Arthur's chest before settling down.

A few minutes pass, he can tell Arthur is tense, wanting to say something.

He waits.

"Do you want me to scent you?" Arthur finally blurts out.

John's pulls back to look at the older man.

"You…" John says, barely more than air, "You want to?"

"Hosea mentioned it, last time, said it would help," Arthur presses his lips together for a moment then looks away, "Been thinkin' 'bout it since."

"Are you sure?” John whispers, “When my next heat comes ‘round… If you do this now, but not next time, it might just make things worse.”

Arthur frowns then looks at him, studying the younger.

“I wasn’t here, for your first two,” Arthur says quietly, “Were they like these last two?”

John shakes his head slowly.

“They were… Normal, I suppose. Exactly how everyone says a heat is,” John mutters, “Just hazy… And…”

“And?”

John flusters silently, ducking his head.

Arthur hums his understanding, rubs his shirt that John’s wearing between finger and thumb.

“I can’t promise I’ll be ‘round for the next one,” Arthur murmurs.

John glances up at him then slowly turns around under Arthur's arm, curling up slightly with his back to Arthur.

Arthur tilts his head down, brushes his nose over John's hair, not touching the nape of the younger's neck directly.

John still breathes in sharply.

"Anyone do this to you before?" Arthur murmurs.

"No," John says hoarsely.

Arthur hums, lifts a hand to push John's hair out of the way, grazing his cheek over the claiming spot.

John's breathing stutters and he grabs onto Arthur's arm.

"Alright?" Arthur whispers.

John nods slowly.

Arthur spends the next few minutes scenting John, being as gentle as possible, avoiding using his mouth.

Then John squirms in his hold and his grip on Arthur's arm tightens.

Arthur's next breath in is filled with the scent of aroused Omega.

Heated, aroused Omega.

He pulls back slightly and John cringes away, curling up, letting go of Arthur's arm to hug himself tightly.

"John?"

"Sorry," John whispers.

"Hey," Arthur says softly, "That's good, right? You're supposed to get like this durin' a heat."

John's shoulders draw up to cover his neck and he nods jerkily.

"Do you…" Arthur presses his lips together and shifts, feeling his body reacting to the scent.

"You can stop," John says hoarsely.

"Do you want me to keep goin', though?"

John's still and silent for a moment.

Arthur props himself onto an elbow, moves his hand from John's waist to the younger's arm, soothing over the tense muscles.

"I ain't forcin' you," Arthur whispers, "Promise."

"Alright," John says shakily, makes himself relax, dropping his shoulders.

Arthur squeezes the younger's arm then leans in to press into the crook of John's neck.

He hesitates, then grazes his lips next to the claiming spot.

John gasps quietly, hugs himself tighter, pressing his thighs together and curling his knees towards his chest.

Arthur pulls his mouth away and rubs over the younger's nape with his cheek instead, moving his hand back down to John's waist and squeezing gently.

John whines quietly before cutting himself short.

"You can," Arthur reassures, "Not gon' hold it against you."

John makes a small, scared sound.

Arthur rubs his thumb over John's back, digging in lightly.

He presses his lips to the claiming spot, curious.

John whimpers and squirms, rubbing his legs together.

Arthur pulls back enough to speak.

"You didn't get any relief this time neither, right?" Arthur asks quietly.

John shakes his head quickly.

"Do you… Do you want to?"

John whines, brings a hand up to cover his face.

Arthur shuffles back and uses the hand on John's waist to turn the younger onto his back.

John's cheeks are bright pink, half hidden by his hand.

"Do you?" Arthur whispers, "I'll help, if you want me to."

"Arthur," John whispers, then whines quietly, "Alpha."

Arthur breathes in sharply and feels a pang of heat in his gut.

There's a nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that he wouldn't do this if it weren't for how good John smells right now.

How tempted he is to claim John.

He's known they were compatible for a while now, but never mentioned it, never entertained it as a possibility.

Promised himself that he wouldn't pursue the younger unless John initiated.

"I need a yes, John," Arthur says hoarsely.

"Yes," John says clearly, "Please?"

Arthur takes a deep breath and groans softly at the younger's scent, lifting himself up to hover above the younger.

He gently nudges John's legs apart with one knee and ducks his head into the crook of John's neck, pressing a kiss there then biting lightly.

John makes a small, choked noise and Arthur feels the younger's hips rock up against his leg.

"Open your drawers," Arthur murmurs against John's skin.

He feels John shifting under him and glances down to see John undoing the closure, hesitating, and then sliding his fingers under the cotton.

"Good boy," Arthur praises, John whines desperately, just next to his ear.

"How slick are you?" Arthur asks, voice low, "Just from bein' scented."

"Sorry," John chokes out, whimpers and curls up slightly, his thighs squeezing Arthur’s knee, "Sorry."

"Shh," Arthur hushes the younger, "Don't. It's fine."

"You don't…" John whispers hoarsely, "You've never wanted me."

"... That ain't true."

"What?" John asks, pulls away the hand over his eyes, turning his head towards Arthur in shock, "But I… I told you. I told you I wanted you."

"You also told me you imagined me forcin' you," Arthur says roughly, "You were skittish 'round me for weeks."

John lowers his eyes and Arthur can tell the younger's hand has stilled.

"I needed to know you weren't confused from it," Arthur murmurs.

Arthur lifts up to look down at John.

"Act like you’re my Alpha," John says hesitantly, not meeting Arthur's eyes, "Tell me what to do."

"What's off limits?"

John swallows thickly, meets Arthur's gaze.

"Nothin'," John whispers, "I trust you."

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment then opens them as he glances down between them.

"You play with yourself, outside of heats?" Arthur asks quietly.

"Yeah."

"What do you like?" Arthur murmurs, looking back at John.

John presses his lips together, glances hesitantly to his trunk in the corner, before looking back at Arthur.

"What?" Arthur asks, brows furrowed, "What's in there?"

"Got it from an Omega workin' girl," John whispers, "Supposed to use it for heats."

"... What is it?"

"It's… You use it when you don't have an Alpha," John says quickly, rushing the words in embarrassment.

"Show me," Arthur says and lifts up, getting out of the way.

John ducks his head and sits up shakily, shuffling over to the trunk and lifting up the lid, digging to the bottom.

He brings back an object wrapped in white linen and shoves it into Arthur's hands, sitting back down tiredly, legs sprawled to the side as his drawers hang loose around his waist.

Arthur glances at John curiously, sitting back on his heels as he unravels the fabric.

It's solid wood, long and thick, coated in something to make it smooth to the touch.

He stares at it for a minute, the thick spot towards the bottom, the flared base.

"You fuck yourself with this?" Arthur asks hoarsely, lifting his head.

John nods sharply.

"Jesus," Arthur mutters and turns the object in his hand before holding it out to John.

The younger glances up at him then hesitantly takes it, wrapping his fingers around the base with familiarity.

"How do you…?"

"On my knees," John whispers, "Or even just layin' down, with it in me. Feelin' full like that, it helps.

"You want that now?"

John nods.

"Do it," Arthur whispers, "Show me."

John sets the wood down next to himself and squirms out of his drawers before laying down, watching Arthur as he spreads his legs, exposing himself fully.

Arthur makes an involuntary noise, low in his throat, when the scent of John's arousal gets stronger.

John reaches down and runs his fingers through his slit before pressing two, and then three, inside.

Arthur watches, captivated by the way John's hips lift into his own touch.

The younger reaches for the wooden object and presses it between his legs, pulling his fingers out and spreading his slick over the length of it.

He looks up at Arthur again as he pushes it inside, holding the older man's gaze until his eyes close, his lips part with a needy sound, the thicker part of the object popping inside.

Arthur realizes it's meant to simulate a knot and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

John slumps against the furs and wool blanket under him, covers his face with both hands as he shifts his hips, clenching around the object.

"S’that good?" Arthur asks lowly.

John whimpers shakily.

"Supposed to feel like you're bein' bred?"

John nods behind his hands, hips rocking up.

"Turn over," Arthur says quietly.

John lowers his hands to look up at him then rolls over onto his belly, pushing back onto his knees, burying his face in his arms with his ass in the air.

Presenting.

"Jesus," Arthur whispers.

He shuffles closer and closes his fingers around the base of the wood, tugging on it lightly until it pops free.

John makes a small noise of protest before cutting himself off with a gasp as Arthur angles the wood, pushes it against the tender spot inside of him.

"Arthur," John rocks his hips back.

Arthur repeats the movement.

John's toes curl, he arches his back further to show himself to Arthur fully.

He can feel his heat coming back over him full force, head hazy and body aching with _need._

"Nn," John squirms as Arthur pumps the toy in and out, "Please?"

"Please what?" Arthur whispers.

"Knot me?" John asks shakily, "Alpha, please?"

He hears Arthur's shaky sound behind him then the older man's warmth covers his back and Arthur noses at his claiming spot.

John makes a happy sound, rocks his hips back against each thrust.

"Please, please? Claim me," John begs, "Knot me."

"John," Arthur groans, "I can't."

John whimpers and lifts his hips more, trying to look more appealing.

"Want you," John whimpers, "Breed me."

"Jesus," Arthur whispers.

The thrusts pick up in speed.

John whines and begs shakily as he clenches around what, in his mind, is Arthur's cock.

He can feel himself getting close, rocks his hips back harder.

"Want your knot," John cries out before a hand muffles him.

He continues begging against the fingers before managing to suck a few into his mouth.

He hears Arthur groan, feels the knot pop inside of him.

He cries out around the fingers, louder than he means to as he comes, squeezing the knot tightly and hoping to feel his Alpha's seed filling him but it doesn't happen.

He whimpers as the fog clears and he remembers that it's not Arthur inside of him, though he can hear the older man's labored breathing behind him.

He clenches hard when he looks over his shoulder and sees Arthur gripping his cock through his pants.

"Arthur," John begs quietly, "Please?"

Arthur shakes his head, eyes shut tight.

John turns over shakily and sits up to pull his shirt off.

"On me?" John whispers, "Mark me?"

Arthur opens his eyes and sees John spread out, leaking slick regardless of being knotted by the toy.

Baring his entire body to Arthur.

John catches his eye and lays back, brings his hands up to cup his chest, gently playing with his own nipples.

"Shit," Arthur mutters and undoes his pants to pull himself out, squeezing his base where he feels his knot swelling, the smell of Omega triggering his instincts.

He scoots closer, kneeling between John's legs as he strokes himself, pre-come dripping over John's slit.

The younger whimpers, rocks his hips up.

"Claim me," John begs, "Alpha."

Arthur groans and squeezes around his knot as he comes on John's belly and slit.

John reaches down and drags his fingers through the mess, pushing it down over his clit.

Sitting up, clenching around the wood as he rubs himself, rocking his hips down to feel the knot moving inside of him.

"Alpha," John whispers.

Arthur growls quietly and John's gaze flicks up to him as the younger brings his hand up, smearing Arthur's come over his hand and lifting it towards his claiming spot, wanting to smell like Arthur.

Wanting to smell like _Arthur’s._

Arthur bends down, grabs his hand before he can press the seed into his skin.

Arthur tucks his head into John's neck and bites just to the side of the claiming spot, digging his canines in roughly.

Reaches down between them and just as roughly pulls the fake knot out, pushing it back in with force.

John gasps in his ear then whimpers through his orgasm.

“God,” John struggles to breath for a few seconds, pulls Arthur closer by the front of the older man’s shirt.

Arthur breathes heavily against his neck, slowly releasing the bite on John’s neck, but not pulling back.

Resting, breathing, letting their combined scents fill his mind with senseless ideas.

Pointless yearnings for John to be _his._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap probably doesn't end how you think,, sorry 
> 
> clit, hole, slit, chest are used
> 
> there's an idea that an omega can be knocked outta a heat by emotional trauma so.. uh........ also i know the term 'seed' is ://// but it's more effective in this context lmb

Arthur lays down with John for a few minutes then pulls away despite John’s sleepy protests.

He wipes off his hands, rights his pants, ducks out of the tent to grab some water and a washrag. 

When he slips into the tent again his ribcage feels too small at the sight of John spread out on the nest, fake knot still buried inside him, slick shining on his thighs, fingers, chest, face from when Arthur had covered his mouth.

Arthur’s seed pooled on his belly, dripping down his slit. 

John stirs when Arthur presses the damp cloth to his face, cupping his jaw and gently wiping his cheek and chin. 

“Alpha,” John murmurs, tiredly leaning his face into the touch. 

“Shh,” Arthur carefully moves the cloth down to wipe off John’s chest, the younger squirming at the cold. 

“I got you,” Arthur says quietly, “Just settle down, John.”

John obediently stops squirming, barely opens his eyes to look up at Arthur. 

Tired. 

Compliant.

Arthur presses his lips together and wipes his come off John’s belly, cleans around the fake knot then carefully pulls it free. 

John’s breathing hitches and he rocks his hips, clenching desperately around the wood. 

“No, no,” John whispers, half-asleep, “Alpha?”

“It’s alright,” Arthur says shakily, “Just cleanin’ you up.”

John makes a small noise of protest then goes quiet, closing his eyes, moving one hand to curl his fingers in Arthur’s shirt. 

Not pulling, not insistent in any way. 

Just holding, like he needs the anchor of knowing Arthur’s there. 

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek, gently but hurriedly cleaning up John’s slit and thighs. 

He feels dizzy as he cleans off the fake knot, finds the cloth it was wrapped in and re-wraps it. 

He sets it down next to John and grabs the younger’s hand, pulling it off his shirt, squeezing it between both of his. 

“You need anythin’?” Arthur whispers. 

John slowly opens his eyes and tiredly takes in Arthur’s face, the older man’s expression. 

Pained, guilty, regretful. 

John’s stomach lurches unpleasantly, he closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Alright,” Arthur says, squeezes his hand again, “I’m- I’m gonna go.”

John slowly pulls his hand back and turns away, curling up, hugging himself tightly. 

Arthur doesn’t move for almost a minute, behind him. 

Then gets up, taking the bucket and rag with him as he leaves John’s tent. 

\--

John’s hair is still damp from the younger washing off when Arthur comes out the next morning. 

John has a scarf wrapped around his neck and lower face, knees bent and pulled close so he can be covered by his too-large wool coat. 

He glances up at Arthur when the older man comes closer. 

“... Mornin’,” Arthur says quietly and fills a tin mug with coffee. 

John’s red-rimmed eyes narrow at him over the top edge of the cream and gray knit.

Arthur lowers his eyes to the mug, blows on his coffee, takes a small sip.

Doesn’t try to say anything else. 

John gets up a few minutes later and passes Arthur, walking down the mountainside towards the frozen river. 

Arthur swears under his breath and finishes his coffee quickly, following after the younger. 

\--

“Go ‘way,” John says clearly, though Arthur is at least thirty yards behind him. 

Fresh snow dampening his footsteps. 

“No,” Arthur says and continues to walk closer. 

John’s shoulders tense but he doesn’t protest further. 

When Arthur gets next to him he can see John is no longer wearing the scarf, and instead has it wrapped around his hands in his lap where he sits on the gravely river-bank. 

John ducks his head quickly, leaning slightly away from Arthur. 

“John…” 

The younger doesn’t respond, twisting the scarf tighter around his hands. 

Arthur sighs and slowly lowers himself to sit down, a few feet between them. 

“I’m sorry,” John whispers after a minute of silence passes.

“What?” Arthur asks incredulously.

“I’m _sorry,”_ John says hoarsely, breathing too quickly, “I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t’ve let you- I was too-”

“John,” Arthur cuts him off, lifting up a hand in a placating gesture, “Hey, now, slow down.”

John takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, curling in on himself, bringing his knees up to hide his face. 

“Why are_ you_ apologizin’?” Arthur asks quietly. 

“I didn’t… I wasn’t thinkin’, I was still too-” John sniff, “I didn’t mean to make you… Get me off, mark me.”

Arthur stares at the younger for a second then barks a sharp, stunned laugh. 

John looks over at him, brows furrowed in guilt and confusion. 

“You didn’t _make_ me do nothin’,” Arthur rubs at his forehead tiredly, “I swear, John, you get the funniest ideas sometimes.”

“Then why’d you look like you regretted the whole damn thing?” John asks roughly. 

“Because I do.”

John’s expression slowly smooths into a dampened look of hurt. 

“Then shouldn’t I be sorry?” John whispers, studying Arthur for a few seconds before bringing the scarf up and pressing his face into it. 

"Nah," Arthur sighs, "Shit, if anythin' I should be apologizin'." 

John makes a small confused sound, muffled by the scarf.

"I wasn't…” Arthur purses his lips, “I honestly wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout just _helpin’_ you. I wanted to see how far I could push you. Get you to come for _me._ You understand?”

“Yeah,” John says weakly. 

“You kept beggin’ me… And, Lord,” Arthur whispers, “Thought for a moment I wasn’t gonna let you walk out unclaimed.”

He hears John swallow loudly. 

Arthur sighs and gets to his feet, tapping John’s head so the younger looks up. 

The bite marks Arthur left glaringly explaining the need for the scarf.

“C’mon,” Arthur says gently, offering his hand. 

\--

They have one last brutal storm of winter before spring starts taking hold. 

John’s laying back on the grass in the cool-but-not-cold dawn.

His limbs feel loose and tired from his shift, from running fast and hard through the forest. 

Now he’s fading in and out of consciousness, comfortable and content.

He stretches his arms over his head as the sun starts to warm his face, matching the warmth in his belly. 

He’s maybe a week off his heat and he’s purposefully avoiding Arthur. 

Because he wants nothing more than to be at the older man’s side constantly. 

He wasn’t lying when he said it could be worse this time, if Arthur didn’t scent him again. 

John frowns and squirms. 

His association between Arthur scenting him and the feeling of being knotted, of being marked with his Alpha’s…

With _an_ Alpha’s seed, are going to make it difficult, if Arthur even wants to scent him again, that is. 

\--

John feels his heat starting a few hours past sun-down. 

He shifts to lay on his back and rubs at his lower stomach and eyes simultaneously. 

He’s cold and there’s a devastating emptiness in his chest from being alone. 

But he knows he’s got a few hours before it really starts bothering him, based on his last few heats, so he tiredly constructs his nest and strips, pulling on Arthur’s shirt, not bothering with drawers. 

He bundles himself with his wool blanket and buries his face in the sleeve that still smells like Arthur. 

\--

John wakes up not long after feeling… 

Funny. 

Needier than the last two heats, but not as desperate as his first two, dizzy, foggy-headed, and deeply like he’s missing something. 

He feels himself make a small, weak noise, but it sounds distant. 

Struggling to sit up, he scrubs his palms over his face and squints in the dark tent. 

It’s obviously still the middle of the night. 

He wants his Alpha. 

John shakily gets to his feet and wraps his blanket around himself like a cocoon, shoving his feet into his boots and slipping out of his tent. 

The moon is slight, only barely illuminating the camp as he makes his way to Arthur’s tent, following his nose more than his eyes. 

The older man is on his side, facing the opening, when John crawls under the flaps without undoing them. 

He pauses, kneeling a foot or so away from Arthur’s bedroll. 

“Arthur?” John asks weakly, tugging on the blanket covering the older man. 

Arthur startles instantly, eyes opening and head lifting to look at John. 

“John?” Arthur mutters, “What’s wrong?”

“Cold,” John says, “Don’t wanna be ‘lone.”

Arthur frowns at him. 

“You in heat?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur sighs quietly and sits up. 

“You should be in your nest, John.”

“But you ain’t there,” John says weakly. 

Arthur looks at him for a moment, silent. 

Then sighs again and shifts to the far side of his bedroll, lifting his blanket up. 

“Alright, c’mere.”

John kicks off his boots, crawls close, and tucks himself under Arthur’s arm. 

Arthur sighs again, squeezing John close. 

“You want me to scent you ‘gain?” Arthur asks slowly. 

“No,” John murmurs, “Just… Be close.”

“Alright,” Arthur huffs, pressing his open hand between John’s shoulder blades and stretching his neck up so John can tuck into his chest. 

\--

When John wakes up, maybe an hour later, he feels more firmly in heat. 

Stomach cramping, burning heat between his legs. 

He sniffs and butts his head against Arthur’s collarbone, shifting his legs but carefully not spreading them at all. 

His fangs and nail beds are itchy, and he knows his eyes are glowing gold. 

He’s never had a heat this close to a shift. 

When John squirms again, Arthur makes a low noise in his sleep, hugging John closer. 

John presses his fist into his gut and closes his eyes tightly. 

\--

“John,” Arthur murmurs. 

John’s eyelids feel absurdly heavy as he tilts his head back and peers at Arthur in the dark. 

“Hey,” Arthur says gently, his hand lightly squeezing John’s upper arm, “You were makin’ noise like you were in pain.”

John grumbles quietly and rubs at his face. 

“You alright?” Arthur whispers. 

“Heat,” John mutters. 

“Yeah, I know that,” Arthur huffs, “I can smell you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you wanna go back to your nest now?”

John quickly shakes his head. 

“John,” Arthur says tiredly, “If you want me to help, I will, but if you don’t... I think you should go back to your tent.”

“Do you want to?” John asks hoarsely. 

Arthur studies him silently. 

“I’m not… That far,” John murmurs, “I can wait.”

“Alright,” Arthur wraps his arm back around John, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly. 

John tucks his face back into Arthur’s neck. 

\--

John wakes up alone, in his nest. 

He blinks at his surroundings in confusion, sitting up slowly. 

He shifts and groans quietly at the aching in his gut and claiming spot.

His throat is dry and he has to piss, so he shakily rises and peeks out of his tent. 

It’s dark, but not the dark of pre-dawn, so he must’ve slept all day. 

John rubs his nose and slips out of camp to do his business, not noticing Arthur sitting at the fire. 

But Arthur notices him. 

\--

Arthur’s sitting on the ground just outside his nest when John returns to his tent. 

“Arthur,” John says quietly in surprise. 

“Dutch wants me to check somethin’ out for him in another town,” Arthur says slowly, “It’s a day’s ride.”

“Oh,” John whispers, kicking off his boots, lowering himself to his nest. 

“I oughta leave at dawn… So, if you want…” 

John presses his lips together, studying the older man. 

“We don’t have to, obviously,” Arthur says quietly, “But if it gets worse like you were sayin’, I might not be ‘round to help.”

John flops onto his back. 

“You said you wanted me,” John whispers. 

Arthur frowns down at him. 

“You did,” John insists, _“You did.”_

Arthur sighs roughly and rubs a hand over his face. 

“Not this time,” Arthur says, “Alright? You want me to scent you? Sure. You wanna get off on it?”

John feels his face heating and lowers his gaze, humiliation tingling behind his ears. 

“... That’s fine,” Arthur says gently, “But I ain’t claimin’ you, and I ain’t knottin’ you.” 

“Why not?”

“... I think you should wait on that,” Arthur murmurs, “You might find someone.”

“Better than you?” John huffs, “That ain’t an easy find.”

“Then you ain’t lookin’ hard ‘nough.”

John rubs at his face tiredly. 

“You’ll still scent me?” 

“Yeah,” Arthur says softly, “_Yeah,_ Johnny, if you want that.”

John studies him for a moment then nods.

“... Turn on your side,” Arthur says and shucks his boots, gesturing John to face away.

John rolls onto his side, pillowing his head with his folded arms and closing his eyes. 

Fabric rustles behind him then something softly drops in front of his face.

John peeks open an eye to see Arthur’s shirt. 

“Oh,” John whispers, “Do you… Do you want the one I got on?”

“You ain’t gotta take it off now,” Arthur says and he settles, chest only inches from John’s back, “Just ‘fore I leave.”

John reaches out to curl his fingers in the cotton, still warm from Arthur’s body. 

He brings it close and hugs it tight to his chest, folding his arms around it so he can lay his face against the worn-soft fabric. 

He doesn’t breathe in too deeply, not yet. 

One of Arthur’s hands settles on his waist while the other gently combs his hair off his claiming spot. 

Arthur spends a minute just gently de-tangling John’s hair, rubbing his other hand up to John’s ribs and down again. 

John makes a small, pleased noise when Arthur finally grazes his knuckles over the claiming spot. 

“What’d you like most?” Arthur asks quietly, “Last time?”

“I…”

“I mean… I know some Omegas got preferences for hands or mouths or…”

“Just… You pressin’ your cheek ‘gainst me’s nice,” John says hesitantly, “All of it’s nice.”

Arthur’s quiet for a moment, then gently rubs his cheek over the claiming spot. 

John inhales sharply, cutting himself off by pressing the new shirt to his mouth. 

“That good?” Arthur whispers, just next to John’s ear and the younger nods lightly. 

Arthur repeats the motion and John closes his eyes tightly. 

The older man keeps petting him, lightly squeezing his waist when he can’t keep quiet. 

It takes a little longer this time, but Arthur inhales, only to be met with the scent of his Omega, heated and aroused. 

Arthur swallows, shifts a little closer to John, letting his chest press against John’s back. 

John makes a high, needy sound, muffled by the fabric. 

“You wanna open your drawers?” Arthur asks quietly. 

“Not… Wearin’ any,” John whispers. 

Arthur’s brows raise in surprise, he’d seen John’s bare legs, but since the shirt the younger was wearing was big on him, Arthur had assumed it was just hiding the hem of the short drawers John favored. 

“... Alright,” Arthur clears his throat weakly, “Well… If you want to get some relief…”

John makes a quiet noise of understanding, but doesn’t move to touch himself, instead curling up tighter. 

Arthur rubs his cheek over the claiming spot slowly, fingers subtly clenching in the shirt John’s wearing as he glances down, hiking the hem up enough that John’s whole thigh is bared to the hip-joint. 

And he can see there really isn’t anything underneath his old shirt. 

Arthur closes his eyes and loosens his grip, letting the shirt settle, taking his time as he transfers his scent to John. 

His lips ghost over the spot and the scent of arousal gets stronger, John subtly trembling. 

“John,” Arthur whispers, “It’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” John says weakly. 

“Why are you… Why you fightin’ it?”

“... You’ll leave,” John whispers, voice breaking. 

Arthur opens his eyes and props himself up to look down at John. 

“I’m gonna have to leave in a couple hours anyhow,” Arthur reasons, keeping his tone gentle.

The small, protesting sound John makes in response is heart-wrenching. 

Arthur hushes the younger and lays back down, pulling John close, holding him tight. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says quietly, “S’just bad timin’.”

John sniffs quietly and buries his face in the new shirt. 

“You want me to keep goin’?”

John nods quickly, moves one socked foot back between Arthur’s calves and tangles their legs together. 

It’s such a small, innocent gesture, in search of more physical comfort outside of scenting. 

Arthur squeezes John firmly, adjusting the younger so their bodies are flush. 

He keeps his arms around John and grazes his cheek over the claiming spot, closing his eyes tightly. 

It changes, the way he’s thinking, his intentions, his mind in the moment. 

Everything feels simple and straight-forward for once. 

Scent his Omega, get John some relief. 

Care and protect and_ love._

Arthur’s lips part slightly in surprise at his own thoughts and he hears John’s muffled whine as his lips brush over one corner of the claiming spot. 

“Shit,” Arthur whispers, “You smell so good.”

John chest hitches in a half-sob and Arthur closes his eyes tighter, letting his jaw open a little more, scraping his fangs over the claiming spot. 

John makes a loud, high-pitched whine, shaky and desperate and barely contained by the balled up cotton. 

Arthur feels the younger shifting in his arms and opens his eyes, looking down over John’s shoulder to see the younger’s wrist bent at his crotch, hand buried between his thighs under the shirt. 

Arthur can’t quite stop himself from groaning weakly, pressing his forehead to the back of John’s shoulder, trying to gather himself. 

John tenses and sniffles and Arthur suddenly smells sadness layering over the arousal. 

“Shh,” Arthur lifts his head, petting over John’s waist, murmuring gently, “It’s alright.”

John swallows loudly and ducks his head slightly, arm flexing as his fingers move further back and he parts his legs. 

Arthur’s barely breathing, cock hard against John’s ass, fingers biting into John’s waist and mid-stomach.

He presses his lips to the edge of John’s claiming spot briefly before returning to a steady back-and-forth of rubbing his cheek over the spot to scent and barely grazing his lips around the perimeter.

John’s shaking in his hold with his self-imposed attempt at stillness, having gained a little relief from getting some stimulation to his hole, but too nervous to go further. 

“You sure-“ Arthur clears his throat roughly, he tugs lightly at the shirt John’s wearing, teasing the hem up an inch or so, “You don’t want that… That knot?”

“No,” John says, voice shaky and watery.

“No you don’t? Or no you’re not sure?”

John sniffs roughly and shifts, but doesn’t reply. 

“John?” Arthur whispers, “Please, you gotta tell me.”

“I thought it was you,” John says hoarsely, “I was… I was doin’ everythin’ right, and I thought it was you, so I was… I was tryin’ to do everythin’ Alphas like but y-you-”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes him gently and shifts to lift himself up, trying to see John’s face, “Alright, alright.”

John takes a shaky breath in and turns his face into the shirt, trying to hide. 

“No, don’t,” Arthur sighs quietly and lifts his hand to brush John’s hair behind his ear, rubbing his thumb over John’s cheek to brush away escaping tears, “Don’t do that, I want to help, but you gotta...”

John barely lifts his eyes, looking around slowly before meeting Arthur’s gaze. 

“What do you need, John?” Arthur whispers. 

John studies him for a minute then presses back against him, looking uncertain as he shifts the hand between his thighs. 

“Can you…” John says scratchily, “If you… Use your teeth, I’m-”

Arthur takes a deep breath and nods, lowering himself down behind John and staring at the pinkened claiming spot, the faint marks he’s already left. 

He carefully scraps his teeth over the base of the spot and John whimpers, squirming as he turns a little more towards Arthur, tangling their legs tighter and spreading his thighs. 

Arthur tries to pay attention to where he’s placing his hands, tempted to take over, tempted to feel the warmth and slick.

John whines, long and high, hips rocking forward against his hand and then back, against Arthur. 

He bends one leg up to push his fingers deeper into himself, trying to get some kind of stretch with four. 

Arthur barely sets his jaw, fangs dangerously close to piercing through, to biting and breaking skin and claiming and making John _his._

“Holy- _Fuck,”_ John gasps and tenses up, shoulders coming up tight around the sides of his neck as he moves his other hand to grip Arthur’s arm around his waist.

Arthur rumbles a quiet growl against John’s neck and shifts his hips, grinding against John’s ass. 

“Arthur,” John says shakily, “Shit, do it, _please.”_

“I can’t,” Arthur whispers, pulling his mouth away, pressing his cheek to the claiming spot, “I know you want it now… But I can’t, John.”

“Will you…” John swallows and whines, squeezing Arthur’s arm, “Help?”

“What d’you want?” 

“Christ, anythin’,” John whispers.

“But you don’t want that knot?”

John squirms under his arm and twists to look at him, hesitant. 

“Fingers?” John asks quietly, not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

Arthur studies him silently then moves his hand down from John’s belly to cover the younger’s hand between his thighs. 

John sucks in a sharp breath, looks down. 

Feels Arthur’s fingers slide over his as he pulls his own out. 

Arthur’s fingers are warmer, thicker, rougher. 

Two press inside of him and he breathes shakily, turning his face into the shirt. 

“God,” Arthur says hoarsely, _“God,_ you’re so warm.”

John makes a weak sound and squeezes Arthur’s wrist. 

“S’this ‘nough?” Arthur whispers. 

“You can… Four?” John asks hazily. 

Arthur leans his chin on John’s shoulder and adds a third finger, watching the younger’s lips part, John’s chest rising and falling quicker. 

_“Alpha,”_ John whispers, hesitantly lifting his leg to hook it over Arthur’s thigh, spreading himself further. 

“Shit,” Arthur mutters and worms his other hand under John to squeeze the younger’s hip tightly, hips rocking forward, John gasping sharply. 

“W-Wait,” John says weakly, “I…”

John squirms out of the older man’s hold then turns around towards Arthur, staring at the older man with a wild look, eyes glowing gold. 

“What?” 

John bites hard on his lower lip then lifts himself up to sit, tentatively putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and pressing. 

Arthur frowns slightly in confusion but lets John push him onto his back. 

John slowly crawls over him to straddle the older man.

Arthur swallows hard as he feels John’s slick warmth on his lower stomach. 

“Wanna… Wanna ride you,” John says uncertainly. 

“I- John, we can’t-”

“No, no, not..” John presses his lips together and ducks his head, shifting back so his slit is aligned with the bulge in Arthur’s trousers. 

Arthur inhales sharply, moving his hands to hold John’s hips in place. 

“Thought you needed somethin’ in you…” Arthur says hoarsely. 

John glances at him then nervously to the side. 

“What?” Arthur asks gently. 

“If… If I use that thing,” John swallows thickly and lowers his gaze, feeling shame came over him suddenly. 

“What, John?” Arthur asks gently, squeezing the younger’s hips. 

“Can you… Act like it’s you?” John asks hoarsely, “Seriously?”

Arthur’s face goes slack in surprise, before he closes his eyes tightly. 

“Yeah,” Arthur whispers, opening his eyes, “Yeah, I can. Get it.”

John’s weight shifts to the side as the younger stretches to the edge of his nest and digs through the blankets. 

Bringing the fake cock back, holding it tightly. 

“You said you didn’t wanna use it,” Arthur murmurs in confusion.

“Didn’t think you’d help me after last time,” John admits. 

Arthur’s chest aches and he shifts, sitting up slightly and moving some of John’s nest around to prop himself up. 

Taking the wooden object from John’s hands. 

“Lift up a bit,” Arthur murmurs. 

John moves to kneel, hovering over Arthur as the older man reaches between their hips and adjust himself, flattening his hand against his stomach with the wood between his fingers, held in place, just next to his cock. 

“You want me to fuck you, Johnny?” Arthur asks quietly, squeezing John’s hips and pulling the younger back down so the fake cock is pressed into John’s slit. 

John’s eyes are wide, lips parted as he breathes quickly. 

He nods, just a slow dip of his chin. 

Arthur hums, a small sound of praise that has John’s hands clenching on Arthur’s stomach, fingers digging in. 

Arthur guides John’s hips into grinding back and forth over the wooden object. 

Quiet wet sounds every time the head of the fake cock catches on John’s hole. 

Arthur lifts his hips to grind the fake cock up against John’s clit, the younger’s legs tensing against Arthur’s hips, squeezing. 

“Feel real good, John,” Arthur says slowly, “All hot and soakin’ for me.”

“Shit,” John whispers and ducks his head, hips twitching roughly. 

“Need t’ be bred, don’t you?” Arthur hums, “Need a cock in you?”

“Yours?” John whispers, closing his eyes, “Please?”

Arthur feels a surge of possessiveness, a tightening of his gut as he growls quietly. 

“Only mine,” Arthur says lowly, “Only your Alpha’s, huh?”

John whimpers sharply, claws scratching over Arthur’s abdomen as John sits up, not opening his eyes as he pulls his shirt off, dropping it beside them. 

John sits nervously, waiting for Arthur to react. 

There’s a scar in the crook of John’s neck, from Arthur nearly claiming him. 

Arthur takes a deep breath in, staring at the mark before squeezing John’s hip roughly. 

“Like that?” Arthur asks, voice thick, “Havin’ my mark on you?”

“Yeah,” John says weakly, “Wanna show it off… Want e’ryone to know.”

“Know you’re mine?” Arthur presses his lips together, shifting slightly, his own cock twitching under John’s ass, making the younger gasp quietly. 

“Please, Arthur,” John whispers. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and pulls John’s hips forward as he shifts the fake cock so it’s lined up. 

He rocks his hips up to push the blunt end into John. 

John clenches tightly around the wood, enough that Arthur can feel the resistance as he pulls John down, until the knot is pressed flush to John's hole. 

John makes a weak sound curling over Arthur slightly, shoulders tense and lifted, head ducked. 

Arthur rubs his thumb over the edge of John's hipbone.

Then Arthur holds the wood in place as he squeezes John’s hip, encouraging the younger to lift up. 

John’s hands slide up to Arthur’s chest and his claws bite into the older man’s skin as John leans down, rocking back onto the fake cock. 

“There you go,” Arthur murmurs, almost unconsciously, watching John move with half-lidded eyes. 

John fingers twitch on his chest when the wood knot stops him from going down any further. 

He sits up a little more, eyes closed tight, head still bowed as he breathes shakily through parted lips. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Arthur swallows, watching the way John’s brows furrow slightly, listening to him, whispering hoarsely, “Keep goin’, fuck yourself on your Alpha.”

John’s thighs squeeze him tightly and Arthur wishes he feel John squeezing around his real cock. 

He feels the younger’s slick running over his fingers, though, and subtly re-adjusts his grip on the wood, trying to keep it in place. 

John pushes down on Arthur’s chest to lift himself up, whining quietly and hesitating with the wood barely inside of him. 

Arthur doesn’t mean to, he really, really doesn’t do it consciously, but he’s lost in the idea… The fantasy of actually fucking John. 

His hips jerk up, thrusting the fake toy back into John, who tenses in surprise, making a strangled noise. 

“... Sorry,” Arthur whispers after a tense moment passes. 

“Keep goin’,” John whispers back, “Fuck me, Alpha… _Arthur.”_

Arthur groans weakly, his cock twitching as he holds John in place with one hand, the fake cock in place with the other, and starts fucking it up into John. 

It’s messy, and Arthur’s fingers are slipping, and John’s just drenched and seems to keep getting wetter, biting down on choked-off moans and whimpers with each thrust. 

Arthur curses quietly as the wood slips out of his hand, falling between his thighs. 

He slowly lowers John to sit on his stomach. 

“Hold on, hold on, shit,” Arthur says apologetically, sitting up and John shakes his head, moving his hands to catch both of Arthur’s wrists, squeezing tightly. 

“What?” Arthur whispers uncertainly. 

John swallows loudly then leans against Arthur’s chest, burying his face in the older man’s neck. 

“S’fine,” John whispers, so quiet Arthur barely understands the younger. 

“... What do you want to-?” Arthur asks tightly. 

He’s close himself, and leans his cheek on John’s, hands hovering awkwardly where John is holding them still. 

He takes a deep breath in through his nose to try and calm himself and nearly recoils at the sharp tang of loneliness. 

Sadness, guilt, rejection, self-loathing- The emotions keep going, each layered over the next and seemingly stronger than the last. 

“Hey, hey,” Arthur says quickly and breaks John’s hold, “Shh, John, it’s alright.”

He wraps his arms around the younger tightly and holds him close. 

His desire to protect John overriding everything. 

To see his Omega happy and healthy and he feels like a failure of an Alpha. 

Arthur stares into the dark of the tent over John’s shoulder, at a complete loss for what to do. 

“Just… _Just,”_ John mutters, emphatically, like he’s saying a whole sentence, a completed thought. 

Arthur hushes him gently and lays back with John on top of him running his hand down the younger’s spine. 

“You… You want me to stay here?” Arthur asks quietly, worry churning in him so strongly it’s rocking into his throat with waves of nausea. 

John nods weakly. 

“You know I gotta go?” Arthur says pathetically, trying to estimate how much time has passed, voice catching over his own uncertainty, “Real soon?”

John nods again, finally moving his hands and pushing at Arthur to shift off the older man and curl up against Arthur’s side instead, cheek pressed to the older man’s ribs. 

Arthur squeezes John’s shoulder cap tightly, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. 

“I’m sorry,” John whispers, voice far too clear and Arthur scents the air again. 

No longer smells heat. 

“Jesus,” Arthur bites out quietly, “Shit, John, _I’m_ sorry.”

John shrugs weakly and tentatively moves his arm to sling over Arthur’s stomach, glancing up at the older man. 

Arthur cranes his neck to look down at him, brows furrowed in concern. 

\--

John falls asleep within minutes, albeit fitfully, twitching and muttering and smelling deeply of distress. 

Arthur can see the first light of dawn peeking through the gaps in the canvas and curses mentally. 

Carefully sitting up and holding John against him, moving to kneel, leaning forward and setting John down in the middle of the nest. 

Arthur snatches the newer shirt from behind him and tentatively puts it next to John, searching for the one John had taken off. 

He’s surprised to see John sniff and then immediately turn towards Arthur’s shirt, reaching out and curling himself around it. 

Arthur has to sit back on his heels for a few seconds, just staring at John. 

He sucks lightly on the insides of his cheeks, gaze flicking over the younger as he tries to process. 

It takes a moment, a lot of shoving down of self-loathing and his distrust in fate. 

But he makes up his mind, then and there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be gone, thought

  
John doesn't avoid him when he gets back, really. 

He just carries a cloud over him and it makes him hard to be near.

Reeking of pain, stress, rejection, regardless of the fact that he's acting fine. 

Arthur tries to be even more gentle with the younger. 

It reads as hovering to the rest of the gang, who either politely ignore the pair's behavior or slyly ask about their bond status. 

Arthur shuts down everything sharply, making sure John isn't subject to any interrogation. 

\--

"Can you help me with somethin'?" John asks quietly, "Can't move that barrel on my own."

"Yeah," Arthur says and closes his book after dog-earing the page. 

He leaves it on the table and moves around to follow John.

"... S'been almost a season," Arthur says hesitantly, quietly.

"Mm-hm."

"You don't smell like you're goin' to... Like you’re heatin'," Arthur sidles up next to John in front of the barrel.

The younger looks up at him briefly, then sighs, tips the barrel so Arthur can get under the other end. 

"Might not," John whispers, "This season."

"What?" Arthur asks worriedly.

“... Happens, sometimes.”

“Is this-” Arthur cuts himself off, swallows hard and leans in closer, taking on the whole weight of the barrel, “This cause of what I did?”

John makes an incredulous sound and then laughs. 

It’s not a happy sound. 

“John,” Arthur says seriously. 

“No,” John takes a deep breath and takes back half of the weight, looking at Arthur tiredly, “This ain’t your fault.”

\--

Summer comes and goes.

\--

Autumn is mild, for the first month or so, then rears its vicious cold with a wicked snowstorm.

"S'it cause we're so high up?" John asks, wrapped in what seems like a dozen layers and still shivering. 

"I guess," Arthur mutters, "Mountains and snow, common bedfellows."

John huffs a weak laugh, staring out into the white. 

They've taken shelter in a cave halfway down the mountain.

"It ain't that cold," Arthur says slowly. 

"... You know why I'm cold," John mutters.

"Shit," Arthur groans and covers his face, "You're early." 

"So's the snow."

"John."

"Sorry," John whispers, fingers tightly curling in his coat, "I'll leave. Once the moons up, it'll be easier shifted."

"... You don't gotta leave," Arthur mutters.

John slowly turns his head to look at him. 

"Who would you go to, anyway?" Arthur asks roughly, "You wanna be out there alone, in heat?"

"Arthur, I don't have anythin’ up here," John says weakly, "Nothin' to nest with, nothin' to help."

"You have me?"

"You don't sound so sure 'bout that."

Arthur opens his mouth to argue then quickly shuts it. 

"You been insistin' you can't mate me this whole time," John whispers, "You gon' break that now? Or you gon' 'help' me, stay with me so I can think I have an Alpha? So I can feel and smell I got a mate, but no matter what I do they don't wanna claim me?"

"... Can't I help you, without goin' that far?" Arthur whispers.

"Why you so scared?"

"You know I've…" Arthur sighs heavily, drops his head, fingertips following the creases in his pants, "You got a lotta life ahead of you."

"So do you," John says sharply, "Don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like e'ryone's better than you. Like I got better options than you," John says earnestly, then kicks out, thumping Arthur's thigh with the heel of his boot, "You ain't a bad man, not like you think you are."

"I ain't Dickie Do Good, neither," Arthur huffs and grabs John's ankle, "I can't give you a house, nice clothes… Kids."

"You think I want someone like that for a mate?" John laughs weakly and flops back onto the stone floor of the cave, "Bein' put up in a house, toted 'round like a show pony? Jesus, Arthur."

Arthur frowns down at John's boot then pulls it off, slowly, cupping John's calf with his other hand as he does.

"Art, what are you doin'?" John mutters tiredly, struggling to lift his head.

"Helpin'."

He hears John sigh deeply, then the younger settles down. 

Complacent as Arthur pulls off the other boot.

\--

Arthur loans every soft possession he has in his bags along with his bedroll and blanket so that John can make a facsimile of a nest.

John sucks on his teeth, sitting cross legged as his claiming spot starts to burn, that heat trickling down through his veins, pooling between his thighs with slick.

He takes a shaky breath in and looks over at Arthur, the older man hatching some broken branches into a bit of shelter for the horses.

John closes his eyes and lays back on the pile of soft things, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry.

He thinks Arthur might love him.

Might.

Could maybe return his feelings, claim him, make him the happiest Omega in the west.

But Arthur's Arthur, and frankly John wouldn't dare to dream of hearing a confession from the older man.

Arthur starts walking back to the little cave, ducks in and pauses, eyes locking on John.

"You…" Arthur clears his throat quietly, eyes flicking down to John's covered lower half, "You're already…"

"Yeah," John mutters, a bit miserably.

"... Can I lay down with you?"

John frowns in confusion then shuffles back, lifting the blankets tiredly.

"Don't gotta ask," He mumbles.

Arthur shucks his boots and slips into the warmth under the layers alongside John.

He gently feels John's forehead and hums quietly.

"S'gonna be worse," John presses into Arthur's hand, desperate for some kinda touch right now.

"What d'you need?" 

"Just… Keep your hands on me, don't matter where," John whispers, "Need to not feel alone."

"Alright," Arthur moves his other hand to cup John's cheek, "I can do that." 

\--

Arthur eventually just wraps him up and cradles him close, hands settled on John's stomach.

"You can… Can scent me," John whispers, "Please?"

"Yeah?" Arthur asks lowly, presses his lips directly to John's claiming spot, the younger gasping sharply. 

"Christ," John whimpers and squirms in the older man's hold, legs pressed together tightly, "Arthur."

"C'mon, John," Arthur whispers, rubs his cheek over the spot, "S'no one around."

John makes a weak sound and bows his head further 

"You should-" Arthur cuts himself short, inhales with an equally weak groan, "God, John, you smell so good. All worked up already."

"Said scent me," John mutters thinly, "Not tease me."

"Sorry," Arthur exhales heavily and switches to breathing through his mouth.

Though he swears he can taste John, the sweet lure of heat. 

He rubs his cheek over the spot again and splays his hand, pressing in on John's belly.

"Art?" John whispers. 

"Hm?"

"Move your hand."

"... Where?"

"You know where," John grumbles and squirms, then covers Arthur's hand with his own, pushing it gently down, but not applying force, "Please?"

Arthur hardly hesitates, hardly takes the time to think it through, moves on instinct. 

Want. 

He cups between John's thighs through the fabric. 

Relishes John's shaky inhale. 

Then pushes, presses, grinds the fabric into John's slit, circling his nub through the fabric. 

He can barely get any friction, fabric gliding over slippery slick as it seeps through the fabric and dampens his fingertips.

"Shit," Arthur breathes out quietly, slows down a bit, focuses in on stroking, "What'd you mean by 'worse'?"

John's nails are digging into Arthur's wrist and the younger squirms lightly, grinding into the stimulation. 

"Stronger," John whispers, "Might go on for a week."

"Jesus," Arthur mutters and pauses, eliciting a small whimper from John. 

"Hold on… We gotta-" Arthur sighs roughly and shifts, resettling his weight, pressing flush to John's back, "'Fore you get too far, we gotta talk."

"Why?" John asks petulantly, squirming in an attempt to get the stimulation back. 

Arthur holds him tighter, stills him. 

"John, seriously… You wanna be… Be bred?" Arthur asks hesitantly.

John makes a small shaky sound, hurt and confused. 

"Shh," Arthur swallows roughly and presses his forehead against John's claiming spot, "Sorry, know I ain't makin' sense."

"Why you bringin' it up?" John asks thickly, gone still in Arthur's arms. 

"You wanna be bred by me?" Arthur asks pointedly. 

"Yeah, Art. Christ, I ain't made it clear 'nough?" 

"No, you… You-" Arthur exhales shakily then takes in a deep breath of John's scent, "Need you to ask me."

"... You serious?" John whispers, sounding hopeful but too heartbroken to trust immediately. 

"Please, Darlin'," Arthur whispers into John's hair. 

"Arthur… Breed me," John says hoarsely. 

It's not a request, it's an order. 

Arthur growls quietly but accepts it, rocks his hips against John's ass. 

"Breed me, please," John trails off for a moment then continues hesitantly, "Claim me?"

Arthur closes his eyes as tight as he can against the indecision, the fear blooming from seeds of self-deprecation.

He tilts his head and sinks his fangs into John's claiming spot before he can second guess himself any further. 

John makes a high pitched sound, shock, that fades out into little whimpers.

Arthur keeps the bite fully connected while he roughly yanks down the fabric to John's knees, then guides John into curling up, exposing himself.

Arthur pulls his cock out, aching, leaking as he presses the head into John's slit, groaning brokenly against the younger's skin at the warm wetness that meets him. 

His hips give an involuntary little jerk, cockhead grinding over John's nub.

"A-Arthur," John gasps, "Please?"

Arthur makes a muffled sound of agreement then reaches around, presses one, two, three fingers into John, no resistance, just slick and burning heat. 

He breathes out heavily and squeezes John, gently pressing in on the younger’s belly as he moves his fingers and slides in. 

John's scent strengthens tenfold, overwhelming Arthur as he grinds in deeper, wanting to feel all of John. 

Wanting John to feel all of him. 

John whines quietly, helplessly clenching around Arthur, hips jerking, already so close. 

Arthur bites harder, as he thrusts for the first time, fucks into John, rolling their bodies in rhythm and making John his. 

John comes, within a minute or so, gasping and begging and clamping down. 

Hands flying back to cling to Arthur. 

Claws growing and pricking, scratching at the older man's arms. 

“Arthur,” John whispers, “Arthur, Art- I-”

“Hm?” Arthur growls against John’s neck, giving a hard thrust, knocking deep in John, the younger curling up, clenching around him. 

He holds John’s hips in place as he pulls out, slowly dragging his cock against the sleeve of John’s walls. 

“F-Fuck,” John hisses, hips jerking out of his control, grinding back on Arthur’s cock, whispering desperately, “Wanna… Plea- Hold on.”

Arthur stills, slowly relaxing his jaw and pulling off to speak. 

“You alright?” Arthur asks worriedly. 

John squirms and pushes against him, seating a weight of guilt in Arthur’s stomach, the older man quickly pulling away, helping John sit up. 

John shoves at him again then turns, pushing away the nest and making an open space in the middle. 

Collapsing, onto his knees, arching his back and stretching his arms out in front of him, ass high in the air and and face in the bedroll. 

Presenting, again, with such intent and sincerity it makes Arthur ache, cock, heart, mind. 

Fuzzy and hard and hot and he crawls over to mount John, properly, laying himself over John’s back and pressing in.

John makes a weak, but pleased noise and squirms, snaking his hips and taking Arthur deeper until the older man’s hips are against his ass. 

Arthur noses over John’s claiming mark, smells the change, weak now, but surely different. 

Mixed. 

Claimed. 

He groans quietly, hips giving a small thrust, cock rubbing against John’s walls, bumping against the younger’s cervix. 

“Alpha,” John murmurs, fingers curling in one of Arthur’s shirts, back arching further, “Please?”

“What?” Arthur drags his fangs over his mark on John. 

His teeth, his print. 

His. 

John’s his. 

It sinks in a bit harder with that thought, that feeling, the points of his teeth catching in the dips of the image of his own bitemark. 

“You gon’ knot me, this time?” John asks quietly, sounding a bit like he’s still not sure Arthur’s serious. 

Arthur wraps his arms around John, moving one hand over the younger’s sternum, the other over John’s lower belly. 

“Want that?” Arthur asks lowly, “Bein’ knotted?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Arthur, please.”

Arthur rolls his hips, starts up a new rhythm, paced and pointed. 

Slow and harsh. 

John begs, and begs, and begs until he’s just whimpering. 

One hand coming down to squeeze Arthur’s fingers pale. 

Arthur pants into John’s hair, against his neck, turns his hand to tangle their fingers and moves their hands down John’s body, together, through the slick dribbling into John’s curls, further, until their fingers, together, are framing his cock sliding in and out of John’s hole. 

The sound in the cave is obscene, John can only whine, clenching like a vice around Arthur, pulsing, coming, again. 

And then again, as Arthur continues fucking him, despite his knot growing, stretching, tugging as it pops in and out of John. 

“Arthur,” John sobs and presses back against him, “Alpha.”

“C’mon,” Arthur grunts, “C’mon.”

“B-Bite- Art, bite-” John cuts himself off with a choked sound as Arthur bites, again, lines up his teeth and solidifies his claim, pushes deep into John as his knot continues to swell. 

John struggles to catch his breath, slick dripping out of him, puddling on his nest as he focuses on the feeling of Arthur inside of him. 

The little thrusts, barely contained, as Arthur tries to hold himself still. 

“Breed me, Arthur,” John says hoarsely, “Come on.” 

“Yeah?” Arthur slurs against John’s neck, “Gon’ let me fill you up? Make you really mine?” 

John’s toes curls and he clamps down on Arthur’s cock. 

It undoes the Alpha, who comes, starts to come, groans weakly and grinds into the feeling, cock jerking, pulsing, seeding John. 

He feels the pressure against his knot, the heat of John and his own spend combining, surrounding him, groaning, pulling his fangs free, plastering himself to John’s back. 

“Shit,” Arthur whispers and nuzzles against John’s neck, throat, pressing his lips behind the younger’s year. 

John makes a low, rumbling sound. 

Satisfied. 

Arthur huffs a laugh and squeezes John. 

“Happy?” Arthur murmurs. 

“Very,” John mumbles, “N’ sleepy.”

“Still gon’ be worse?”

“Mm, nah,” John shifts slowly, tucking his socked-toes under Arthur’s shins, then making a muffled noise as Arthur slowly smothers him, presses him into their nest, John’s chest shaking with laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [morston discord](https://discord.gg/BFFx4Xy)   
[my twitter](https://www.twitter.com/providentialone)


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